The setting SUN shot back a ray,
Once more the lovely plant to warm,
While warbling from a neighbouring spray,
A Thrush proclaim’d her power to charm.
The Larkspur turn’d her velvet head
To view the subject of the song;
“Come, minstrel of the wood,” she said,
“For me thy tuneful notes prolong.
“See how the waters, as they pass
To bathe the verdure of my feet,